The Merit Birds Part 3

"I'm new here," he said.

"You all are," Nok answered and stood up to leave.

Shards.

Cam.

"Cam, I'm so glad you're getting into Lao culture," Julia said when my visits to Fa Ngum Ma.s.sage grew more frequent. But Somchai figured it out pretty quickly.

"Meet a beautiful poosao?" he asked one evening when I got back from the ma.s.sage house. I just grinned and pa.s.sed the basketball to him harder.

I could tell Nana was trying to hide a smile each time I requested Nok to be my ma.s.seuse, but I noticed how Nok's body would stiffen when Nana led me to her. Was that a good sign? I didn't think so.

We began to talk about a lot of things after each ma.s.sage. I asked about her parents and she said they went to political retraining camp. She said it was like a school where the Lao government sends people to learn about communism.

"When are they going to be done?"

Nok just shrugged.

I surprised myself by beginning to talk about my dad. The last time I'd said his name I was seven years old. I'd been waiting all morning for him to pick me up and take me fis.h.i.+ng. Kneeling on the couch, my nose pressed against the window, I waited for his car to pull into Julia's driveway.

"Great day for fis.h.i.+ng!" she had said brightly as she'd opened the curtains that morning. But she was growing increasingly agitated. I could tell by the spastic way she cleaned the kitchen, folded the laundry, tried to keep busy.

I watched as our neighbour across the street pulled out of her driveway and came back some time later with a trunk full of groceries. I saw Matthew from down the street practising how to ride without training wheels. His dad held on to the back of his bike seat and ran beside him over and over again, just like I'd seen other parents do. Parents except for mine; I still needed training wheels.

My father had called me two weeks earlier and promised this would be the day. We would catch a lake trout big enough for dinner, he said. I hadn't seen him in a year and a half. He was going to be amazed at how tall I'd grown.

"Maybe you should call him?" I said to Julia. "See if he's still coming."

But by this time, Julia's forced cheeriness had fizzled. "I'm not calling that b.a.s.t.a.r.d."

I whined at her to call him, but she just went back to her frenetic housework. I tried screaming and she ignored me. I pounded on her chest with clenched, seven-year-old fists. She left the room and I frantically grasped at whatever I could and chucked it until it smashed. A Royal Doulton figurine that was my grandma's. A crystal sugar bowl Julia only used when company came. I liked that I was in charge of how they broke, how I had produced the razor-sharp gla.s.s shards myself.

Julia came back into the room but didn't say a word. She had seen these kinds of tantrums before. The counsellor had instructed her not to react when they happened, to stay calm, keep cool. He (or was it she? I had seen so many counsellors by age seven I can't remember) told me to count to ten, take deep breaths, think of something that made me feel good. But he didn't know how good it made me feel to see my mother's cherished belongings smash against her expertly wallpapered wall.

She picked me up, and, with my arms thras.h.i.+ng viciously, carried me into my room. That was before I was stronger than her. Later, she would have to just leave the house. It was the only thing she could do.

In my room I overturned the oak dresser Julia had bought after the divorce. I punched a hole in the wall - the third one in two months. My mother wouldn't even bother repairing it. When I was finished I lay on my bed. Now there was s.p.a.ce. Now the deep breaths could come. Now I felt calm. But now my father would definitely not come. He would never come again. Who would want to spend time with an angry kid like me?

I couldn't believe I was telling Nok all this c.r.a.p. I'd never talked with a girl about stuff like that before. I'd never talked to anyone like that before. I liked the way she just seemed to accept everything. She didn't try to make it better, she just listened. There was nothing fake about her. I don't even think she wore makeup.

"Do you want to come to my basketball game tomorrow night? We're playing a team from Thailand. They're supposed to be tough to beat."

"No," she said bluntly.

"Why not?"' I asked, trying not to sound too desperate. She didn't answer.

The next night, I was still wondering "why not." I wasn't focused on the game. Also, Julia said she was going to come watch, but hadn't shown up. I kept checking the sidelines for her.

"Cam, where's your mind today? You gotta wake up out there," Mr. Rose said. "We've got to be ready for the tourney in Thailand."

Mr. Rose had figured me out a bit, and knew to back off when it was obvious that I was p.i.s.sed. I was starting to like how he coached - firm and smart. Our team was getting pretty good. The first time I went to a practice I was disappointed. The team seemed like a pile of barf from different countries, speaking different languages, playing different styles. But we'd started to really come together.

I was trying hard to concentrate when I was fouled by the Thai team's star guard. He'd had it out for me since the beginning of the game. I could tell by the way his intense, dark eyes focused on me. I knew he was trying to distract me. But I wasn't going to let him screw up my game. I had learned a couple things in Laos. Being chilled out had its benefits. Still, the game was getting intense. Tied at forty-three apiece by half time. I soon became lost in it.

It was moments like these that made me love basketball. I loved how it could make me forget. Forget my past, my insecurities, even forget myself. During times like these the only thing I thought about was the game. The only thing I heard was the heavy breathing and grunts of the players around me and the squeak of shoes on the polished court. I was simply me. But when the Thai guard fouled me again, he took me out of that s.p.a.ce. I hated him for it, but I told myself to be calm. I scanned the perimeter of the court, but Julia still wasn't there and the game was almost over. The Thai guard started shoving me whenever he was in arm's reach.

"What's your problem?" I asked the next time we were close.

"So you're the hotshot new guard." His breathy voice was thick with adrenaline.

I met his taunting eyes.

"Not much," he said, and spat on the floor.

Breathe, Cam.

Don't let it get to you.

I wondered if the words were mine, or one of my counsellors'. s.h.i.+t, now my concentration was really broken. Where the h.e.l.l was Julia, anyway? Maybe with Gary, the princ.i.p.al, again, or maybe her friends from work. Whoever it was, they were obviously more important than me.

Breathe, breathe, breathe.

The play started again and suddenly I was running up the court on a fast break. This was my chance to show what I could do. To live up to my reputation as a star ball player. My heart pumped up in my ears and my endorphins soared. I didn't take my eyes off the hoop. I was just about to take a shot when the Thai jerk tripped me. I landed on the gleaming, wooden floor with a hard thud. My teeth cut into my lip like a little kid who fell while learning to walk.

"Forget it, Cam," Mr. Rose yelled. "Forget it!"

I tried. I lay on the floor counting to ten. Then I counted backwards. Then I even counted in Lao. I thought about what Somchai would do in this situation. He'd somehow find it funny. But through my sweat-stinging eyes I saw the Thai guard hovering over me, laughing.

"I heard you're good at ball and your mother is a wh.o.r.e," he said in between heavy breaths.

My teeth clenched together.

"I know the first part isn't true." He laughed. "Maybe you could give your mother my number and I'll see about the second part."

All of my attempts to keep it together took off like a flock of birds that had just heard the shot of a hunter's gun. I jumped up and grabbed his throat.

"Cam, stop!"

He punched my face. I lunged at him viciously, carelessly, like an animal about to rip open its prey. I heard a girl shriek and saw scarlet red on the floor. I inhaled the metallic smell of fresh blood. Mr. Rose and the ref were grasping at us, desperately trying to pull us apart. But I didn't care. I saw fear in his eyes and I liked it. I was in control of the destruction. I punched his face over and over again. I would let him have it. In my mind, I heard Julia's fragile, crystal sugar bowl smas.h.i.+ng and cras.h.i.+ng to the floor.

Loving Brother.

Seng.

Seng remembered the story their mom used to tell them. The one about the pregnant woman sacrificing herself. Meh's eyes would grow wide and her voice would soften to a suspenseful whisper as she described in detail how the woman had flung herself into the deep hole hundreds of years ago, when Si Muang temple was being built. Meh wasn't trying to scare them, she was trying to teach them a lesson. About sacrifice. Or was it about the temple and why it was so great? Seng realized that perhaps he hadn't got the lesson. He was sure it was a good one - something that he was supposed to remember his whole life. Nok would know what the lesson was supposed to be. She was always brave when Meh told it; she would laugh as he ran and hid underneath the sleeping mat they shared on the floor. That story always gave him the s.h.i.+vers. Especially the part about the temple pillar being lowered on top of the woman while she was still alive. She sacrificed herself, and her baby, to become city guardian of Vientiane. Her spirit was supposed to bring the temple good luck. If you went to pay her homage and asked an old Buddha image to make your dreams come true they surely would. At least that's how Meh always ended the story. Maybe she only did to make him feel better.

"I saw you coming out of Si Muang temple today," Nok said over dinner as she rolled sticky rice in her hand. She smiled knowingly. "Are you dreaming for something to happen?"

"Why?" Seng was embarra.s.sed. He scratched the back of his neck. He didn't want her to know how much he thought about leaving Laos. If he could make it to America, people would know he was someone more than a fat peddler of plastic.

"You must have gone to ask for good luck with something."

"How about your work today?" Seng tried to push the topic of conversation off of him. He didn't want to tell Nok anything until he had good news from Vong. Surely their big sister would come through and help him get to America. It was the least she could do.

"Let's not talk about work. It's over, big brother. Focus on your food. You like the fish?"

Now Nok looked like the one feeling uneasy. She was always that way about her work. Maybe it's because she shouldn't be working, thought Seng. With her brains she should be studying. After all, she was still sneaking into sociology lectures at Dong Dok University even though she had been caught and told that only those paying tuition could attend. She should be studying at a good university, like an American one. He'd find a way to make it happen. He'd ask his best friend, Khamdeng, to help him contact their older sister.

"Do you think I could send an e-mail to Vong next time you work at your brother's shop?" he asked Khamdeng when they met on the riverbank after dinner. Khamdeng had an older brother who just opened up an Internet cafe, one of many that sprung from the tourist industry.

Khamdeng laughed as he eyed Seng scratching the back of his neck. "You're excited."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No, I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are."

"Can we stop now?"

"You always scratch your neck like that when you're excited or nervous about something."

"No, I don't."

"Yes, you do."

"No, I don't! I was just scratching a mosquito." Seng suddenly took his eyes off his friend and let his hand drop from his neck down into his lap. Three foreign girls walked by. Seng couldn't take his eyes off them. One had long, blonde hair s.h.i.+ning down her back, sky-blue eyes, and a face as sweet as vanilla kalem. She walked slowly, her eyes wide, scanning everything around her - the river, the farmers' wives selling vegetables, the bald monks floating by in their orange robes. She was like a child seeing something for the first time.

He tapped Khamdeng on his chest.

"You help me get to America, brother, and I'll introduce you to a girl like that."

Suddenly, the girl seemed to notice them, crouching along the riverbank. Seng sat up tall. Maybe she would come over and talk to them. He looked at Khamdeng and winked.

His friend laughed.

"Cheese!" Seng called out.

The girl's eyes paused on him for a second, but then went back to their scanning, as if she hadn't heard him. As if he was merely scenery to be observed and not the most handsome man she'd ever seen.

"You don't know anything about girls," Khamdeng said.

"We'll see what you say when I bring my American girlfriend back here to visit. Are you going to help me write the e-mail or what?"

Khamdeng reached over and playfully slapped Seng on the back of the head. "You have to ask? I'm your friend, stupid. Friends don't say no to a request for help."

"But it has to be in English so Vong sees that I would be a great help to have in America."

"Okay, I did pretty well in English cla.s.s. Better than you, anyway." He threw a pebble into the Mekong. "Do you have an e-mail account?"

"No."

"Okay, no problem. We can use mine."

"Do you know her e-mail address?"

"No."

"You need that. We can't send anything without it."

"So sorry to hear that."

"Do you know how to type?"

"No."

Khamdeng cracked up. "Still the cla.s.s clown."

Seng laughed, too, even though he didn't find it so funny. He'd never used e-mail before. How was he supposed to know you needed an address?

He remembered Vong had written something about e-mail at the bottom of a card she'd sent last Lao New Year. That night after dinner he asked Nok to see the card again. He brought it to Khamdeng and he had been right - her e-mail address was written at the bottom. An auspicious sign, he thought.

It took them hours to craft the first message. When they were finished they sat back in the flimsy, plastic Internet cafe chairs and high-fived each other. Seng knew Vong would not be able to ignore the brilliance of his message: Dear Vong, I am young brother Seng. Three years ago you marry and you go to America. I want to join with you. Here in Vientiane selling plastic goods all day long n.o.body buy. No kip. Vietnamese job. Better for me come to you. I cook you nice cheese hamburgers and I invite you to big baci party (at your house). Please help me come to America. I am waiting your answer.

Little sister Nok has good health and is still smart but she so serious now like old woman.

Loving brother, Seng Seng made Khamdeng check for a message from Vong every day.

"Anything?"